


The Weight of All Worlds

by SorrowsFlower



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: ALL of them need a hug, Alternate Universe, Angst, Avengers Infinity War, Crossover, F/F, I am horrible at tagging, Just know they're all gay messes in this, Kara Danvers Needs a Hug, Lena Luthor Knows Kara Danvers Is Supergirl, Lena Luthor Needs a Hug, NBC Dracula - Freeform, Sherlock (TV) - Freeform, Slow Burn, SuperCorp, Time Travel, westenray
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:38:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorrowsFlower/pseuds/SorrowsFlower
Summary: "No! NO!" Kara's hands fist into Lena's sleeve, almost digging in, as if it could somehow stop the inevitable. She's seen this before, and she can't believe it's about to happen again. To Lena -- and Kara knows, she KNOWS, this time, she won't survive it. "Please, no-- This wasn't supposed to happen. Lena--"Lena grips her arms just as tightly, presses her forehead against Kara's and smiles sadly. As if she knows. As if she's known the entire time that Kara was going to lose her whole world. Again."I'm sorry."....OR the Infinity War AU nobody asked for.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There is no excuse for this fic. None whatsoever. Except that I watched Avengers: Infinity War twice in the theatres and I couldn't stop picturing Lena and Kara in that mess.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is my first Supercorp fic. I've only watched the Supergirl episodes with Lena in them, I've only seen 2 Marvel movies, and I know very little about the rest of the DC universe. It'll follow the Supergirl timeline mostly, before going to shit. I think you'll find this is not very canon-compliant, considering all the crossovers. This is bound to be a mess, but hopefully, you'll stay with it, and I'll try to get it all to make sense.
> 
> P.S. Lena is NOT Mercy Graves in this AU. Mercy is an OC of mine.
> 
> Enjoy!

The child called Mercy was crying.

She had just seen her whole family crumble to dust in front of her.

One moment her Mummy and Daddy and her big brother were holding her in their arms, the next they were gone and her tiny hands were grasping not the silk sleeve of her mother's blouse, but thin air. Her wide eyes, luminous in this strange planet's dusty light, searched frantically for any sign of them around her, but there was none.

It took some time for her to realize they weren't going to re-materialize in front of her -- she was an intelligent child, the smartest of her age, her Daddy told her; but she was only four, and she could be forgiven for not understanding how her family could just disappear into dust and not come back. Even the grown-ups around her were just as confused as she was.

When understanding did sink in, it brought with it fear and anguish and a whole host of emotions the child couldn't even begin to comprehend, and her pretty little face began to crumple. It was too much. Small whimpers began to force themselves out of her throat, and her hands began to wring the hem of her dress.

"Mummy? Daddy?" The child called Mercy called out, her voice high and tiny in the vast emptiness of the arid landscape. Tears began to fill her eyes when no answer came forth. Panic forced her voice higher. _"Mummy! Daddy!"_

One of the grown-ups near her turned at the sound of her voice. The child hadn't noticed her in her panic, but the woman had been crumpled on the ground a few yards away. At the child's whimpers, the older woman seemed force herself up from her knees and, with great effort, she half-walked, half-dragged herself to where the child called Mercy was crying and clutching her skirt.

The woman placed her hands on the little girl's shoulders and knelt directly in front of her. The child called Mercy could see her eyes, and they were a pretty blue, like the blue of the sky -- not the sky on this strange place, which was an angry crimson that hurt her eyes, but the clear morning sky of the place where she was born. The blue of this stranger's eyes was warm and familiar, but she wasn't her Mummy.

"Where's my Mummy and Daddy?" she whimpered, lower lip trembling as she clutched the older woman's arm.

The blue of the woman's eyes were wet and sad, and her voice shook when she replied "I don't know, Lena. I'm sorry."

The little girl whimpered further at her words. She wanted to correct her and tell her that her name wasn't Lena, it was Mercy -- but before she could, the older woman scooped her up in her arms, straightening from her kneeling position on the ground.

"It's gonna be okay, Lena," the woman bent over her, golden hair falling forward to cover both their faces, and the child instinctively curled into the warmth of the woman's body, seeking comfort and reassurance in all this confusion.

This close, the little girl noticed that her cheeks were wet with tears too. Her voice cracked a little, but she continued to murmur soft, sweet words even as she held up a small pill in her palm and offered it to the little girl.

"Here, sweetheart, take this. It's okay."

"No!" The child called Mercy hesitated, burying her face into the woman's chest. Mummy told her never to take candy from strangers, and she was too smart to fall for a trick like that. The beginnings of a sob were muffled into the woman's chest. "I don't want candy, I just want my M-Mummy and Daddy and my b-brother!"

The woman's face seemed to crumple at the child's cries and she pressed her face to the top of the little girl's head. Her lips were soft, and the child could feel them pressing into her hair. The woman's arms tightened around her, and she began to rock her slowly. "I know, I know, Lena. I'm sorry -- Rao, I'm so sorry. But I promise, everything's going to be okay."

The woman moved back a little and the child called Mercy looked up at her. Her blue eyes were warm and kind, and even though they were sad, they smiled for the little girl as she held up the pill again.

"Trust me, please, Lena. Everything--" her voice cracked again, but gained strength when she looked back at the little girl, as if she were trying to convince herself as well as the child.

"Everything will be alright. I promise."

The woman's strong, sweet voice lulled the child into accepting the candy that didn't taste like candy at all. It tasted icky, and the child called Mercy thought she ought to mention that to the older woman -- but she wanted to find her Mummy and Daddy, and being rude to her didn't seem like the best way to get her to help.

She was just about to ask her about her family again, but the woman started rocking her arms again, and she was so warm, and she felt so nice and safe -- not nice like Mummy or safe like Daddy, but still nice and safe enough for the little girl to let her eyes drift closed. As she did, a few tears slipped past her lashes and down to her cheeks, and the woman wiped them away with gentle fingers.

When she woke up again, she remembered nothing. Not the woman. Not her Mummy and Daddy and her big brother. Not even that she used to be a child called Mercy.

There was only one thing she remembered, so she gave it as her answer when the tall, bald man in a suit hovering over her unfamiliar bed asked for her name.

"Lena."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeahhhhh... So.... Keep going?  
> Send me your feedback please, I love to know what people think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn Lena's story, and an important meeting takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, yeah. Apparently my brain views canon as a mere suggestion, lol. This story will focus more on Supercorp than the Infinity War part of it. There'll definitely be major elements of it in this and the plot does rely rather heavily on the movie (SPOILERS INCLUDED), but this won't be a retelling of Infinity War. More like a Supercorp-centric Infinity War re-tooling of Supergirl. If that even makes sense.
> 
> Also, be forewarned, my Lena has more issues than she has pencil skirts, so yeah. Just so you know.

They call it The Event.

A phenomenon so unprecedented, with such global catastrophic impact that in the end, there was really no other word to describe it. The exact number is still debated to this day, but experts agree that around half the human population disappeared that day, without warning. 

Just... vanished. Evaporated into ash. Without provocation or explanation. No time for farewells, no time for closure or even confusion. Just random human beings unraveling, dissolving into non-existence, while the rest of the population watched in shock and silent horror.

Not since the extinction of the dinosaurs had a single dominant species been decimated to such a global degree. The shell-shock that had resulted afterwards had been profound, a universal sense of trauma that left the remaining stragglers of the human race in an almost all-encompassing state of catatonia.

Lena hates that name.

The Event.

As if it were an affair they all decided to participate in. A casual occasion that humanity had been invited to, and half the population had just decided not to show up.

As if it weren't a tragedy that left a little girl with no memories, abandoned in the house of a family that cared nothing for her.

After the Event -- when most people were struggling to even process that it _had_ happened, let alone understand _why_ it did -- not everyone sank into the blissfully apathetic trance of catatonia. The beauty of the human race is that it always struggles not just to survive, but to thrive. To pick themselves up from the shreds of trauma, and somehow move on and keep living, keep building.

Lena can appreciate that.

All over the world, stories had cropped up of people selflessly helping others. People of different races, creeds and genders overcoming former societal barriers to help those in need, those unable to move on from their loss and suffering. Massive shelters being organized, homes being rebuilt -- albeit missing some pillars of obliterated families -- children whose parents had disappeared being taken in by kind strangers, everyone recovering and helping with recovery, experts all over the world mobilizing to try and make sense of what had occurred and God, what to do to make sure it didn't happen again.

Not all of them, however, had such good intentions.

The Luthors were an indestructible breed, everyone knew that. 

Even before the Event, they had proved themselves unstoppable. And though they were missing some scions in their distant family tree, the nuclear family that had held up Luthor Corp remained amazingly intact -- the Mother, the Father and the holy Son.

Even as she thinks back on it, a corner of Lena's lips curl up in a bitter smile.

Some had seen it as a blessed sign. The Luthors were above even the rules of such an Event. Not even the hand of Fate -- or catastrophe, or tragedy, or whatever incomprehensible idea of cosmic balance had ripped the human race in half -- dared to touch the _Luthors_.

Others had viewed it with more suspicion and animosity. Why, when the rest of the world was suffering from such tremendous loss, were the Luthors spared?

True, they were not the only family in the world that had blessedly remained whole. But it was the Luthor way to take advantage of any opportunity to rise to the top -- and the Event had given them just that. Just weeks afterward, Luthor Corp assessed its losses and set about trying to rebuild itself and the city around it with astonishing speed.

And no one in Metropolis believed that they were doing it out of the goodness of their hearts, or out of a sense of loyalty or love for the city.

Society was slowly picking itself back up on its feet, and Luthor Corp was rapidly and steadily forging its way back to the top with most of its limbs intact. While everyone else was struggling to cope with loss, the Luthors were already taking advantage of the chaos and vulnerability to rearrange the world economy to their benefit.

And people were beginning to notice. The displaced anger that had been bubbling under the remaining population's skin -- there had been no one to blame for the Event, no scapegoat for the world to foist its anguish on; not when its cause was unknown -- had been slowly seeking traction and found it in the building resentment for the Luthors.

Something had to be done before public outrage turned on them.

The perfect opportunity had come in the form of Lena. The little girl who woke up one day in an enormous four-poster bed in the manor to find herself a Luthor.

Just thinking about it now, years later, makes Lena's hands fist where they were lying loosely on top of the tray table.

She catches herself, and with a deep breath, Lena uncurls her hands smoothly to reach for the glass of scotch beside her. The rich, amber liquid slides past her lips and she swirls it in her mouth, relishing the sharp taste and the smooth burn. It's exquisite, and she makes a mental note to tip the flight attendant generously later. Flying is hard enough for Lena -- especially when she's not in her own private plane -- and this little obligatory trip down memory lane just makes it even more unbearable. Thank God for alcohol.

With a long sigh, she leans back on the plush leather seat, eyes closed, and _remembers_.

The official story had been hashed out enough by the media -- Lena, the sweet little girl orphaned in the Event, had been found abandoned by the Luthor patriarch. Lionel, touched by the child's circumstance, had brought her home to his wife and son, both of whom were "overjoyed" to have a new addition to the Luthor family.

It was convenient that Lena had absolutely no memories of her life before the Event.

Lillian had smiled beatifically for the cameras -- her immaculate, well-rehearsed media smile -- and called it "a blessing for the poor child", and Lionel had placed his hand on Lena's shoulder and called it "a new beginning, for all of us". Lex had taken her smaller hand in his, and gave her a wide, conspiratorial smile, as if he were letting her in on a joke.

And he was.

All of it was just a big joke.

Once the cameras stopped flashing and the four of them were alone in the family limousine, the hands dropped away from Lena and busied themselves with more important things: Lillian with smoothing her Dior dress, Lionel with his cigar and a bottle of brandy.

Only Lex's hand remained holding hers.

The family had never strayed from the public story. Not even to Lena. She had been fed the same company line. She had been found by Lionel, and taken in out of the goodness of his heart. Lena should be thankful she could now call herself a Luthor -- even if Lillian was quick to refute that claim with a sharp jibe as often as it came up.

If Lex was the one who made Lena feel most welcome (if not the only one to do so), then Lillian was the one who went out of her way to do the opposite. It had been clear that her "new mother" barely tolerated Lena's tenuous new position in the family from the moment Lillian had sharply rejected the very first of Lena's displays of affection -- a spontaneous hug when she was presented with her new pony.

It had been a gift from Lionel, but he had been off on one of his countless business trips, and Lillian had been there, to observe Lex during his riding lessons, when the charming creature was led over to Lena and the reins handed over to the delighted little girl.

In a burst of excitement, Lena had hugged Lillian's legs -- the highest part of the woman she could reach -- and squeezed tight, giggling adorably. Lena's laughter had stopped abruptly, however, when she was all but shoved away by Lillian, her little arms peeled away from the woman's body as if she were contagious.

The vehemence with which she was pushed away had shocked Lena. The force had knocked the little girl back a few paces and she would have stumbled into a heap beside her new horse if not for one of the stablehands catching her. Lillian had made no attempt to hide her hostility from any of them, merely brushed off her Hermès breeches as if to wipe away all traces of Lena off them and strode over to Lex to compliment his riding form.

It would have been easy to explain the incident away, but it quickly became part of a larger pattern.

The birthdays (or in this case “adoption days", since Lena didn't even remember her life before the Event, let alone something as trivial as a birthday) that had come and gone unacknowledged whenever Lionel wasn't around – which was often, since Lionel had only really been present for two of her birthdays and on both occasions, he had been preoccupied with business calls. The giftless Christmases when Lena was confined to her room for most of the day, to be let out only for the annual Luthor Christmas dinner, where the enormous Christmas tree would be nearly overrun with extravagant presents – all for Lex. Occasionally, there would be a couple in there for Lena when Lionel could be roused long enough from business meetings to remember. Most of the time he wouldn't.

The crayon drawings of her new family that five-year-old Lena had labored over in school -- each name ( _Mommy, Daddy, Lex, Lena_  and _Merrylegs the pony_ ) painstakingly spelled out on top of the colorful figures – that had ended up in a crumpled ball in Lillian's trash bin. The report cards covered in A's, the science fair awards, countless school ribbons, equestrian cups, medals for archery and fencing, chess trophies, the plaque she had received from NASA for winning the robotics challenge when she was eleven, the medal and the check for 40,000 euros (which, to be fair, was not even half a drop in the ocean that was the Luthor family fortune) that Lena had received at sixteen for taking 1st prize in one of the oldest and most prestigious piano competitions in the world -- not a single one acknowledged.

Always, it came down to Lena never being enough.

The constant narrowing of Lillian's eyes and the tight line of her lips as each of Lena's accomplishments passed upon her altar -- as though they were offerings from the false daughter who had only ever craved her love and affection -- was evidence that Lena was never, and would never be, good enough.

The rare times when Lillian had begrudgingly given her approval, just enough for Lena to long for more, were always inevitably accompanied by its own cavil – thinly veiled criticism, a patronizing smile, the reminder that Lex had done this or that better. Each accomplishment belittled as a party trick, when her precious son was saving the world and achieving advancements that could only be dreamt of by lesser mortals.

It should have made her sick, that she craved so much approval from a woman who clearly hated -- _hates_ \-- her, and it does. It still does. Which is why Lena takes another swig of scotch, and this time the burn abrades her throat instead of soothing it.

It should have made her antagonistic toward her brother. The clear favoritism should have driven a wedge between her and the golden child. It would have made things _so much_ easier, would have made the betrayal hurt less.

It should have. But Lena had loved her brother too much.

Even if she cannot confess it out loud to another soul, Lena still does. And _that_ should make her sick, that she would ever have any love for the monster who now sits in solitary in Stryker's Island.

But she can't help it. She still loves that beautiful boy with his awkward tousled curls and his charming, lopsided smile. The boy who had loved his sister in equal measure.

Lex had been proud of her. He had celebrated each accomplishment with her as if it were his own.

He had kept the childish drawings Lena had made of him -- stuck them in a place of honor on the cork board by his desk, hugged her tight and whispered _"Picasso couldn't have done better, kid"._

Had snuck into the kitchens with Lena for a celebratory hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows whenever she brought home a new ribbon or another exemplary report card from school (Hot cocoa used to be her sweetest indulgence, but she's stopped drinking it since the trials. It just takes like ash in her mouth now).

Had given Lena the grand piano after her first school concert -- the Steinway that now sits dusty and untouched in the all-but abandoned Luthor Manor -- and asked her to play a piece by one of his favorite composers, an old-school pianist who had disappeared in the Event ( _"You play so well, Lee. Some people just have a gift with music. You clearly do."_ ).

Had taken her NASA plaque to work with him at Luthor Corp, just to show off what a genius his brilliant little sister was and she was only eleven, imagine what she could do in ten years.

It's been sixteen years now.

Lena wonders if he would still be that proud of her. Now that she will have to build not a robot, but a company -- their family's company -- almost from the ground up. Now that Luthor Corp is about to become L-Corp. Now that she has to claw her way out of his tainted legacy and drag her poisoned inheritance along with her.

Lena wonders if any part of that boy who held her hand in the family car still exists, and will still love her after all this.

Lena wonders why she should still care.

The screen on the seat beside her blares indignantly about current events -- this time about a mishap with the Venture -- and Lena is reminded once again why she is on this particular train of thought. She should have been on it, the Venture, it would have been an excellent opportunity. But L-Corp was more important.

The news shows footage of two caped figures impossibly holding up the shuttle and putting out the fire that had engulfed most of the aft fuselage. Lena makes some quick calculations in her head and deduces that it was probably an oscillator malfunction that had caused the explosion.

Lena's stomach twists. That oscillator had been produced by one of L-Corp's subsidiaries. The press will no doubt have a field day with that. Her stomach twists further when she realizes that if circumstances had been different, she would've been on that shuttle, and she's fairly certain that the Supers wouldn't be half so willing to save the shuttle if Lena Luthor had been in it.

Lena's own face fills the screen and it's inevitably followed by a photo of Lex from the trials. Lena takes a deep breath to calm herself.

Before Lex's descent into madness, two things had always been associated with her on the news -- her inescapable last name that has long since felt more like a noose than a privilege, and the Event which had forced her into this family in the first place. No one has ever let her forget either.

And now there's a third, Lena muses with a bitter half-smile. Yet another millstone around her neck. Her brother, the golden Son turned unholy, and his sins.

Doubtless no one will let her forget this as well.

Her phone chimes with an email from her assistant, Jess. A urgent reminder of her first meeting when she lands -- an interview with Clark Kent of the Daily Planet, plus one. A representative from CatCo. Jess -- bless her -- reminds her, in a tone that's almost apologetic, that they need a statement about the events regarding the Venture explosion.

Honestly, Lena's not surprised they're already crowding at her door before her plane even lands. An explosion endangering people, a mechanical malfunction of a part that has the Luthor name stamped on it, another Luthor somehow escaping death? It's all highly suspect in the eyes of the public, who, by now, are just wondering why all the Luthors just didn't disappear in the Event and leave them alone.

Lena sighs and downs the rest of her scotch, the burn now more of an irritant than a pleasure.

It's going to be a long day.

The plane lands safely, and Lena breathes out a sigh that is half-relief, half-defeat. Back on solid ground. She closes her eyes for a long moment ( _three... two... one...._ ), and when she opens them, she lets her face slide into the flawless mask with which Lena Luthor, CEO, tech genius and billionaire powerhouse, faces the world.

It's with this mask that she faces her brother's former best friend and now his most bitter enemy.

The interview doesn't go as smoothly as Lena would like, but that was to be expected, given that the man interviewing her is the same man her brother had slaughtered thousands to kill.

And here he is in her office, all mild-mannered and Midwestern, his polite smile barely concealing his distrust. Ready to believe the worst of Lena because of her damned last name. Ready to condemn her because she is a murderer's sister. Ready to come after Lena if she so much as makes the smallest slip.

She can't really blame him.

Superman certainly has enough reason to distrust all Luthors, after everything Lex has done. Hell, after everything her _entire family_ has done.

Lena doesn't hold it against him. Just like she didn't hold it against him when he put Lex in prison.

Lex had committed all his crimes of his own free will. She may never understand why he did them, but she knows only Lex is responsible for his actions. Neither Superman nor Clark Kent had committed them for him. In fact, he had risen above Lex's vendetta against him; had not sought revenge, only sought to protect the innocents that Lex carelessly sacrificed to feed his own madness.

But part of Lena can't help but hate Clark Kent just a little bit.

If only because Clark, like Lena, had known the forgotten Lex Luthor. The sweet, loving boy who had existed before the madness. The kind, generous young man no one else seemed to remember after he succumbed to the darkness inside him -- not even Lex himself. The nostalgic little relic of her brother forever crystallized in amber in the recesses of Lena's mind.

Clark Kent -- Superman -- had known that boy, had loved him, and betrayed him.

A small, unacknowledged part of her hates him for it.

Lena knows it's irrational. Because Lex had betrayed Clark first. Because Superman had imprisoned his own best friend for the good of the world, and if she had been in his shoes, Lena would have done the same thing.

And in a way, she has. She has vehemently separated herself from her family's outspoken views, has condemned her brother's unspeakable acts, even testified against him in court. She has denounced her brother's company, and with teeth grit and hands fisted on the reins, is making it her own and steering it into a path for _good_.

It feels like a betrayal. Years of living as a Luthor, indoctrinated in the ways of ruthlessness, and a lifetime of being Lex's sister makes it feel that way. Lena hates herself too. For betraying the memory of that sweet boy who had once held her hand when everyone else let it go. 

How fucked up is that? That she hates herself for doing the right thing.

Lena allows herself a moment to linger on these thoughts, staring out the glass window at her view of National City, before turning back to the two reporters standing across her desk. She considers them thoughtfully before deciding on the truth.

Lena tells them of L-Corp and her plans for the company -- her _dream_ for it, even if she doesn't say that out loud. Some emotion must have leached into her voice because Clark Kent's companion listens to her almost avidly, an intense, thoughtful blue stare focused on Lena from behind thick eyeglasses.

 _"I'm just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family... Can you understand that?_ "

Lena doesn't expect it, because for most of the interview, she's been more focused on Clark Kent than his companion. Understandable because of the loaded history between them, indirect though it may be, and this meeting is a stand-off of sorts -- the superhero sizing up the new Luthor in town, and vice versa.

But when Lena speaks this truth, asks for understanding, the other woman -- Kara Danvers -- breathes out a fervent agreement. It's barely more than a mumble, but there is, in that single word of affirmation, a sense of empathy and kinship that makes Lena appraise her with a thorough glance.

Young, mid- to late-twenties. Pretty, in a wholesome kind of way. Lovely, sweet smile, the kind that Lena would have melted for years ago. Her pastel clothes speak of an outgoing personality, but the cute little cardigan conceals a surprisingly athletic build. More than meets the eye, then. Her posture, her notebook, the awkward microexpressions of her face, and her eagerness to contribute to the conversation all scream rookie, but there's a sincerity and naiveté about her that Lena finds rather charming.

What would this woman know of the burden of a name like Luthor?

Still, there's something in her eyes as she looks at Lena, a perceptive sparkle that tells Lena on some level that she _understands_ , and the earnestness of her agreement makes it sound as if the other woman knows exactly what Lena is talking about.

Lena dismisses them not long after that. She's a busy woman, and she has a company to run and a family name to dredge out of the mud. She's done her part, cooperated fully, but she knows they'll be back.

And she's right.

Just not in the way she expected.

She's strapped into the cockpit of the helicopter, bracing herself yet again for another flight -- why the fuck does a CEO's life have to include so much _flying?_ \-- when it happens. A black shape appears in the periphery of her vision, unrecognizable at first, just beyond the pilot's side, and Lena squints at it. When it finally comes into focus, Lena's heart sinks in dread.

It's an LX-401, a heavily armed unmanned drone with enough horsepower to bring down the entire chopper and then some. Even as she realizes this, a second drone appears just beyond the windshield on her side.

And it's headed straight at her.

Lena barely has enough time to grasp the pilot's sleeve in warning before it fires. She cries out in alarm as the first volley of shots finds it mark, hitting the horizontal stabilizer and sending the whole helicopter into a tailspin. Another bullet whizzes through the pilot's side window and hits the pilot on the chest.

Lena can't even begin to process the sequence of events that follows. She can feel herself being buffeted in her seat, held only in place by the straps of her seatbelt as the chopper tilts dangerously in the air. Her shoulder hits the window on her side, hard, and _fuck_ , that hurts! And she's dizzy -- God, she's so dizzy -- but she tries to grab the pilot's arm as he slumps over. Gerald, that's his name, some disconnected part of her brain remembers. She needs to make sure he's okay, but her head is spinning and it's all she can do to hold onto Gerald's arm, let alone try and stop any bleeding.

And then, just as suddenly as it begins, the chopper's downward spiral stops. And miraculously, the helicopter begins to descend, slowly and steadily.

Lena is jerked forward in her seat when the tailspin is stopped, but all her limbs are intact and she's not bleeding. She's gonna have one hell of a seatbelt burn all over her and her shoulder will no doubt have a gigantic bruise come tomorrow, but she's largely uninjured, which is more than can be said for Gerald. She rips the headset off her head and turns to the unconscious man beside her.

Before she can even do anything else, a figure appears on the pilot's side, ripping the door open. Lena gasps, first in shock, nerves wrecked, but it turns into one of relief when she sees the flash of blue and red, then the 'S' symbol. She runs a shaky hand through her hair, trying to get her wits back in line.

She hears Supergirl's voice reassuring her that she's safe in one breath, then informing her that her life is being threatened in the next, but Lena is just trying to wrap her head around it.

 _"Someone's trying to kill you._ "

No shit, Lena wants to say. But the sobering thought of _who_ is more than enough to put a lid on her sarcasm.

The moment she saw that drone, she'd had her suspicions on who might be trying to kill her. There's a reason she knows what it is, the same reason why she's now more familiar with weapons and tactical machinery than she would ever like to be.

When Lena had taken over the reins of Luthor Corp, she had inherited all of its assets, for good or for ill. And that included the veritable armory that Lex had been planning to use against Superman and other aliens. The LX-401 was one of a line of aerial vehicles he had been developing, to attack Superman while he was in flight. He'd been planning on adding Kryptonite-infused firepower, but had been interrupted in his modifications for it by his incarceration.

And now, it seems he's decided that the unmodified version will be just as useful to kill another, less invulnerable target.

After all, it doesn't take Kryptonite bullets to kill Lena.

She feels sick.

"Are you okay?" a gentle voice asks, bringing Lena back into focus. She looks up to see Supergirl, trying to stop the bleeding on Gerald's chest. Her hands are pressing on the bullet wound just under the man's collarbone, but her eyes are staring at Lena in concern.

Her eyes are a striking blue. Like the blue of the sky behind her.

_Blue skies, not red._

The thought crosses through Lena's mind in a flash -- so suddenly she thinks she might have had a concussion at first -- accompanied by a strange, disconcerting image of a violently crimson sky -- an angry red hue that hurts her eyes -- stagnant and clouded with dust and ash.

And then, suddenly, _blue_. Warm and kind blue, nice and safe blue. Blue like the Earth's sky, blue.

The same blue that's staring at her right now.

"Miss Luthor, are you okay?"

The look of concern is growing in Supergirl's eyes the longer it takes for Lena to answer her. The other woman leans forward, as though attempting to physically check Lena, but then remembers her hands on Gerald's chest are pretty much the only things keeping the man from losing half his blood volume into Lena's blouse. "Are -- Are you hurt?"

Lena shakes her head, both to clear it and to reassure Supergirl that she's not injured. With a deep breath, Lena looks up at the superhero and gives a start, because she's 99.98% sure that this woman in front of her is the very same "sort of" reporter from CatCo who had shown up at her office with Clark Kent just a few hours ago.

Lena opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, the pilot stirs between them, groaning. Panic immediately seizes Lena again as she looks down at Gerald's pale face. God, he's _so_ pale.... He has a family, Lena remembers. A husband and two adopted little girls. He'd showed her their pictures on his phone once.

He can't die. He _can't_.

Not when it was Lena who was the target. And he was just collateral damage.

"Is he okay?" she asks Supergirl shakily, and the other woman gives her an attempt at a reassuring smile.

"The paramedics are on their way. They'll take care of him and then we'll make sure they check you out too, just to make sure you don't have internal injuries or anything. Miss Luthor -- Lena -- don't worry, okay? We'll find out who's behind this and we'll catch them. You'll be safe.... Everything's gonna be alright. I promise."

Lena's head snaps up.

_Where had she heard those words before?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, my tenses are a mess and I'm all over the place. Also, I don't usually update this quickly (ask my WIPs) but I just got in a streak with Lena. I love her so much.  
> What do you guys think? I'd really love to know. Reviews are my lifeblood!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kara challenges Lena's boxes, and two people meet in a back alley in New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the messiness of this fic, I have no betas and English isn't my first language. Also, I have about as much idea as you all do of what's gonna happen in this thing.
> 
> That being said, Enjoy!

She should have known better.

God, she really should have known better. But for a renowned genius, Lena Luthor is a complete and utter fool.

It didn't start out this way. It started as something completely different.

When she runs into the woman who saved her life and her pilot's, Lena finds that she's disguised as the mild-mannered Kara Danvers again, roaming the very same hospital where her pilot just got out of surgery supposedly to visit a sick "friend" that Lena is pretty sure is imaginary.

But she's not surprised. Of course National City's hero is keeping tabs on her.

In fact, she's expected it.

So she invites her to coffee at the place across the street. Lena figures it's the least she can do for the woman who saved her life. And if she keeps a watchful eye on the newest Kryptonian to come out of the woodwork, Lena certainly can't be blamed for that. Not with all the history between the Supers and the Luthors.

As it turns out, Supergirl -- Kara Danvers -- is not what Lena expected.

In her uniform, she is strong and unshakable, with an air of confidence that is familiar to Lena. As someone who has turned the command of a boardroom into an artform, Lena knows that people respond to the veneer of authority and easy assurance that people like Lena Luthor and Supergirl need to project to the world. Their need for it may be different -- Lena's for control, of her company, of shareholders and associates who doubt her position; Supergirl's for the public's trust -- but to Lena it brings a sense of kinship and a strange sort of empathy she didn't expect to feel for the hero.

Because out of her uniform, this woman is different.

Mild-mannered and unassuming, much like her cousin, Clark Kent. But also.... wonderfully human. Charming in an awkward, slightly clumsy, entirely adorable way that makes Lena hide a smile when she looks at her. This woman -- Kara -- says things like "golly" and fiddles shyly with her glasses. She ducks her head with a soft smile whenever Lena compliments her. Her face flushes a lovely pink when their eyes meet and linger for a second too long.

A quick coffee turns into another the next day, then another. And another. Until Kara practically vibrates with too much energy from daily caffeine, so Lena turns their coffees into lunches. Which Kara takes to immediately because she's already discovered that Lena often forgets to have lunch -- apparently a criminal offense in the eyes of a superhero who can eat her body weight in potstickers in one sitting.

Sometimes Lena wonders why Kara -- Supergirl -- keeps coming back. Keeps coming to Lena's office to share a couch and a table laden with Kara's pizza boxes and Chinese takeout and Lena's lone salad. Why she chooses to take precious minutes to hours of a superhero's time to send Lena a barrage of emojis and videos of puppies on YouTube to make her smile.

She thinks at first that it might just be an excuse. To keep an eye on Lena.

Honestly, she can't really blame the Super if her reason for befriending Lena was to keep an eye on the newest Luthor, because Lena herself had befriended Kara Danvers to keep an eye on the newest Super.

It's not because she aligns herself with her family's stance on the Supers and aliens. Lena has never shared her mother's disdain and paranoia, or her brother's fear and jealousy.

No, the reason why Lena kept Kara close to keep Supergirl closer was because of her own fear for herself. She has tried so hard to distance herself from her family's madness, has tried _so hard_ to be good. But one misstep, one misunderstanding can undo all of it. And it will only be a matter of time before the Supers -- particularly National City's sweetheart -- come after her. There's too much history, too much prejudice between their families.

The safest strategy has always been to keep Supergirl close.

Halfway through another conversation about Kara's disbelief that Lena has never seen a Disney movie, Lena wonders exactly when that had changed.

When did she start storing all interactions with Supergirl in one box, and Kara Danvers in another?

When did Lena first pick up her phone to text the blond reporter without any agenda or intent other than sending an invitation to brunch, merely for the pleasure of the other woman's company? When did she first make it through an entire girls' night without once thinking of Supergirl, the Luthor name, and all the burdens that came with both?

When did she first feel the expanding warmth in her chest whenever the blond reporter's face came into view?

It feels good, and... and light, as if for the first time ever, Lena can breathe. Because Supergirl is powerful and unshakable. The Girl of Steel, an impenetrable force for good. Everything Lena has always wanted to be. But Kara Danvers... Kara Danvers is deceptively, wonderfully human, and she allows Lena to be the same.

But it's a dangerous game. And she should have known better.

_"Love is a dangerous disadvantage."_

The words echo in Lena's mind. She can't quite remember where it came from. She would think it was from Lillian, except Lena's impeccable memory knows Lillian never said those words. Upheld that mantra for years, but never said those words. And something tells Lena that the words came from the bottomless, blank, unremembered cavern that was her life before the Event, before the Luthors.

Nevertheless, the words ring true.

Love _is_ a dangerous disadvantage. Especially for Lena.

She should have known better. Remembered better the lessons learned from the past.

But when Kara declares her faith in Lena, both as Supergirl and Kara Danvers, and sets her apart from her family --- not in the way Lillian did, but in the firm belief that Lena is somehow _good_ , that she is somehow _better_ than they are --- Lena makes a choice.

She calls Lillian and gives her mother what she wants on a silver platter. Or in this case, a titanium briefcase. Then she calls herself a Luthor right in front of a Super and turns the key to a killing machine.

And as the police cars bearing Lillian Luthor pull away, Lena carefully and meticulously stores all of the emotions clawing desperately at her throat into her boxes. The relief. The anger. The satisfaction. The guilt. The pride. The pain. The fear. The anguish. The resolve. The sadness.

Each one painstakingly wrestled into boxes and locked away, to begin the process of storage and reduction until Lena can breathe again.

She comes to the last and most formidable emotion of all --- the one she can't bear to name --- and she can't resist. Lena looks up at Supergirl. She meets Kara's sky-blue eues and sees the whole host of emotions in them --- untempered in their rawest form, not organized into boxes like the ones Lena carefully curates -- and Lena feels it in full force.

_Love._

God, she really should have known better. She should have stopped it then. Cut it off like a gangrenous limb before it spread.

It's too raw. Too overwhelming. Too dangerous.

Lena tears her eyes away and slides into the car that she had summoned. Not giving the other woman the chance to approach --- to thank her, to berate her for not sharing her plan, to counsel her against taking such a risk. She can see it all in Kara's unguarded eyes, and it only fuels the emotion that Lena is trying to wrestle into submission. So she lets the window slide up and gives the command to be driven away.

She doesn't see Kara for a while after that, and Lena thinks that this was it. The one misstep that cost her Supergirl's trust and ruined all her hard work. Lena doesn't seek her out, thinking that might be the end of this friendship. Which would probably be the best. For both of them.

But it's not.

Because Kara herself seeks her out a week later, with profuse apologies for having been gone, citing an emergency with an "out-of-town friend" as the excuse for her absence. And the lunches resume. And the movie nights. And the girls' nights.

And when Lena loses Jack --- dear, sweet Jack whose only fault then had been to ask Lena to choose between him and her family's legacy, and whose fatal mistake now was to stand on the other end of yet another choice Lena has to make: him, or Supergirl -- when Lena loses Jack and sits cross-legged, cold and deathly calm on the couch in her office, Kara comes in bearing flowers and an offer of comfort in her arms.

_"I will always be your friend."_

And Lena freezes, feels cold again --- this time for a reason entirely separate from Jack's death.

Because the promise that falls from Kara's lips is one that Lena has heard before. From another girl who also held Lena's hands in hers, and promised her a friendship that would last for "always".

_"We will always be friends."_

It's been years but Lena's memories are crystal clear, simmering in a tightly contained box in her mind. Severely guarded with every defense her mind has, yet still straining against its confinement, a constant reminder of the dangers of sentiment and... _love_.

Kara has made her complacent. Being in Kara's arms makes Lena's defenses give way ever so slightly. Where before she wouldn't even look at that particular box, unmarked yet unmistakable, looming large as life at her back -- would only look resolutely forward with a regimented defiance, as if giving that box any thought would only give it more power -- now she gives.

Thoughts of Kara make her soft, and Lena gives, turns her head just the slightest degree. She doesn't open the box, but she allows herself to feel its ever-pulsing presence behind her.

And that alone is enough.

Old wounds throb painfully. Cuts sting, haphazardly covered but never healed because the damage ran too deep. And the insidious toxins of pain, doubt, shame, fear and _love_ creep once more into Lena's bloodstream like a cancer that was never gone, only in temporary remission.

_Mina._

Memories of another open-hearted, bright-eyed sylph of a girl come flooding back, and Lena has to close her eyes.

Memories of days spent in the company of tender smiles, gentle laughter and a friendship Lena never thought she deserved. Of nights spent in each other's beds, listening to a sweet, beloved voice talk well into the night, while Lena silently _burned_ with a yearning she could never understand, or reveal for fear of losing her best -- and indeed, only -- friend.

Memories of boring afternoon classes where little notes with innocent and coquettishly oblivious lipstick marks were exchanged, before being stowed hastily in Lena's bag to be taken out later and only in the intimacy of her room where she pressed her own lips to the paper outline of Mina's. Of the aching hollow despair in Lena's chest when she saw those lips kiss Jonathan Harker -- blustering, posturing Jonathan Harker whom Lena often caught staring at Mina with the same hunger she felt in the pit of her stomach but could never confess. Of the caustic sting of having to listen and smile as Mina, blissfully oblivious of the pain she was inflicting on Lena, spoke of Harker with an endearing softness equalled only by the softness Lena felt for Mina herself.

Memories of bringing Mina home to Luthor Manor -- something Lena had tried to fight ever since she had decided that Mina was too good, too lovely to be touched by the posion that was Lena's life as a Luthor... but Mina had insisted and Lena had been helpless to resist. Of being so proud of her friend nonetheless because she had borne the pointedly cold dinner with Lillian and Lionel with such captivating charm and good grace.

Of that terrible moment when Lena had torn her eyes away from Mina for one second that night.... and met Lillian's icy stare over the dinner table -- and the dreadful realization that Lillian had seen the secret that Lena had been trying so hard to hide.

Of the sense of terror, shame and foreboding because there had been no words -- only Lillian's hard, knowing glare that said more than any words ever could.

Of the dreadful comprehension when Mina did not return to school that fall, the absolute certainty that Lillian had something to do with it, and how it had driven Lena to her first real act of rebellion against her mother.

And worst of all, the memory of the terrible night that had followed.

Of hitchhiking to Mina's house, and climbing with ragged relief into Mina's bed and Mina's arms, just as she had so many times before, with Mina's gentle whispers of how much she had missed Lena in her ear-- and God, when had anyone ever said anything like that to her before? Of the look of tenderness in Mina's eyes that had made Lena _brave_ \-- brave enough to lean forward and kiss her.

_"We could be so much more.... I've always loved you, Mina."_

_"Has our whole friendship been a pretense?!?"_

Of the knowledge that it wasn't Lillian who had ruined the friendship that Lena treasured above all else --- it was Lena herself.

_"You need to leave."_

It's been years and the pain has dulled somewhat. Lena is no longer a starry-eyed, gullible schoolgirl. She no longer lives under her mother's thumb. But the lesson learned remains, standing out in sharp relief in the walls of Lena's mind.

Lillian had been right. Emotions do not belong in the light of day. They are meant to be sealed away in airtight containers and stored in the deepest vaults of one's psyche.

Lena should have known better by now.

Except Kara.... Kara refuses to be contained. Kara of the sunshine smiles, full laughter and dainty eyebrow crinkles refuses to go into a tiny little box.

It's different with her.

With Kara, there is no lounging about in bare feet and nightgowns, idly smoking illicit cigarettes while talking of dreams and singing along to Fleetwood Mac's _Rhiannon_ on the school's old turntable. With Kara, there are no nights lying heavy and languid in bed, drunk on love and the absinthe Lena had stolen from the headmistress's cabinet (Lena quickly slams the brakes on that, because thoughts of her and Kara in bed together are just a slippery slope, and with all the time they're spending together these days, Lena needs to shove that in another box and clamp the lid shut).

What she gets with Kara are lunches that quickly become the bright spot of her hectic workday. With Kara, she gets long conversations somehow peppered with both lilting, unrestrained laughter and piercing reflection, that leave Lena feeling warm and emotionally raw in the most delicious way possible for hours afterward. With Kara, she gets arms that wrap around her as if they would never let go, and Lena sometimes desperately wishes they wouldn't.

With Kara, she gets to feel as if she is more than a Luthor, more than the product of a poisoned name. With Kara, she gets a staunch defender who somehow believes that Lena is worth taking a chance on, is worth showing up for, worth saving. With Kara, she gets to be saved, both by Supergirl and Kara Danvers.

Kara seems to have a gift for drawing out parts of Lena she had forgotten existed from within their boxes. For making Lena want to open boxes that have long been closed. It's new and refreshing.

But at the same time, it's utterly terrifying. Because those boxes have been closed, locked tight, for a reason.

With Mina, she had been so effusive, so unguarded, had given herself so fully -- she should have known that no one could understand or accept Lena Luthor in her entirety. The part of Lena's nature -- the one that Lillian Luthor had tried to quell since that day Lena hugged her over a pony -- the part that loved so earnestly and far too deeply than was safe, had not seen the danger it was in with Mina. It had allowed her to indulge -- in gentle embraces, in long nights tucked together under blankets, in sweetly calling the other girl _her_ Mina. Which only served to break Lena when she realized Mina _wasn't_ hers.

So she had closed that box. Out of self-preservation.

At least with Kara, there are no illusions. Kara does not belong to her. Never has. Never will. Not as Kara Danvers or as Supergirl.

Supergirl belongs to everyone, to the world she has adopted and saved countless times, to the lives she holds in her powerful hands, and the people she inspires. And Kara Danvers... she belongs to her family. To the circle of people who gravitate to the warmth, kindness, compassion and love that the woman exudes -- Alex, James, Winn, that Mike or Mon-El or whatever his name really is (his name might as well be Jonathan Harker to Lena). They all revolve around Kara like planets willingly caught in her orbit.

Kara isn't Lena's. It's a fact she'll never let herself forget. Can't afford to let herself forget lest the lessons of the past be unlearned.

Lena is content to stay in the edge of Kara's solar system -- to admire and love from the sidelines. Never too far from Kara's warmth, yet never close enough to let the heat consume her. It's for Lena's own sake as much as Kara's. A defense mechanism she's had to learn.

Besides, she doesn't belong there anyway, in Kara's closest circle. Kara herself has made that abundantly clear. That group consists only of people who know Kara's secret life as Supergirl, and as long as Kara tries to keep this charade in front of Lena, she will never be one of them.

Sometimes Lena wonders if there is something fundamentally wrong with her. Two best friends. She's only ever had two best friends in her life, and somehow, inevitably, she falls in love with both.

She's too greedy, too hungry for any scrap of affection. So desperate for it that she attaches herself almost pathetically to anyone who gives her a sweet smile and a kind word.

Hasn't she already proven that with Rhea? An affectionate hand to her chin, and a steady stream of motherly pride and praise were all it took. Look how well Lena had danced for her. She'd offered Earth on a silver platter to a megalomaniac alien with genocidal tendencies and taste for tacky dresses.

Control. She's got to get herself under control again.

So Lena pushes all these feelings back into the box, and resolutely turns away. Doesn't open it for fear of what would happen when she does.

But the more time she spends with Kara -- the more lunches they share, the more conversations linger between them, the more encounters she has with Supergirl -- the more Lena realizes that the box is getting too small, and the emotions too big to be contained.

Kara falls asleep beside Lena on their first girls' night since the Daxamite invasion, her arms and legs akimbo on the couch, head dropping nonchalantly on Lena's lap, as if it's an everyday occurence. A tranquil sleeping face peeking through honey-blond curls spread across Lena's thighs, a forearm draped lazily over her left knee -- and Lena has to physically stop herself from reaching out and stroking her hair, from touching the soft-looking cheek, the gentle fan of those long lashes... Lena's fingers curl in on themselves because she can't touch even though she wants to, more than anything. Shouldn't touch, precisely because she _wants_ to. Because the last time she _wanted_ this much, she had destroyed the thing she held most dear.

And she will _not_ make the same mistake again.

On another girls' night, when she and Kara aren't alone, Sam asks if Kara is seeing anyone, and Kara gets a sad look in her eyes and turns away, shaking her head. And Lena looks down in shame and guilt, finding that she can't meet Kara's eyes because it's _her_ fault. They both know it's Lena's fault that Kara is currently not seeing anyone --- because the man she loves can't enter the atmosphere thanks to the device _Lena_ made. And God, as much as it would hurt --- more than the pain of seeing Mina kiss Jonathan Harker, because Mina had long been lost, and Kara... Kara is _still_ here in spite of everything --- it would hurt, but Lena would give anything, turn the world inside out, to bring back Mon-El.

Anything to remove that hollow look in Kara's eyes when she tells Sam, no, she's still getting over a relationship with a guy who "moved away". As if it's that simple. As if it's not Lena's fault.

Kara, who defends her vehemently against people slandering her for poisoning _children_ , for fuck's sake -- even Lex Luthor hadn't committed anything as vile as that, and isn't it _just like Lena's life_ that this is the one thing she's finally bested Lex at?

Kara, who believes Lena is innocent and still, _still_ , persists in her investigation when even Lena condemns herself as guilty.

All these emotions that Lillian would scorn her for get pushed under the box lid in her chest. But it's too much, and some of it is bound to leak out.

And it does, thanks to a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and the heartbreaking faith in Kara's earnest blue eyes. Faith Lena doesn't deserve.

_"I know that you think all the world is good, and that.... that is one of the things I love about you."_

She almost said it. She did say it.

But Kara... Thank God Kara has so many people who love her. Surrounded by so much love on all sides that it's not a big deal for her to hear from a friend that she's loved. She doesn't know the meaning and gravity that Lena -- who hasn't heard the word "love" directed at her in a long time -- gives to that word.

So it gets swept away. Kara takes it at face value, and Lena lets her, burying herself in a glass of wine, with a murmured dying warning to her best friend that she's not worth it. Not worth all the effort Kara puts into her. Not worth Kara getting into trouble over. Not worth the drive and intensity Kara puts behind the people she cares about.

And the uttered word "love" gets swept into the locked box in her chest along with everything else, with Lena pushing against it to make sure it doesn't have the audacity to slip out again.

But Lena is tired.

There's too much, and she's just so, so tired.

Of holding everything in. Of keeping all of these emotions locked up inside her. Of being a Luthor in love with a Super. Of being the cause of all this evil, even if evil wasn't her intent. It was never Lena's intent, but _always_ the damage was done at her expense --- the Daxamite invasion had never been her intent, and yet it had happened through her. Those sick children hadn't been poisoned by Lena's own hands, but even if Morgan Edge had been the perpetrator, Lena was the motivation behind it. Because she was a threat. Because she was in the way.

She's so tired.

For one weary moment, just as she slams onto the bottom of the torn C-130 plane, Lena contemplates the idea of not being in the way anymore. Of giving in. Succumbing to the fatigue that has settled into her very bones, to the weight of the boxes inside her that are already threatening to bury her before she's even in her grave.

For one weary moment, she gives Kara an out.

_"Let me go."_

She sees the widening of Kara's eyes, even as she strains to keep the structural integrity of both sides of the plane intact. It's the perfect out for Supergirl, the perfect opportunity to rid the world of a liability like Lena Luthor. No one would blame her -- in the choice between saving the citizens of National City and a Luthor, it should be clear which Supergirl would choose.

Except Kara astonishes her again.

She refuses to make the choice. Kara, of the emoji texts and potsticker lunches, grits her teeth and refuses to let Lena go. Supergirl holds on tight to the side of the plane Lena is on, and with an almost desperate note in her voice, urges her to climb and stubbornly refuses to let her go.

And Lena -- struck mute by the utter determination in Kara's face to save her, to _keep_ her --- Lena focuses on Kara's face and Kara's voice. The weary moment passes, and Lena finds the steel inside herself once again. She summons all her strength, climbs almost to the lip of the plane, and takes a leap.

A strong hand catches her in mid-air, fingers closing over her wrist, keeping her from falling. Lena's own fingers wrap around that hand, and she breathes again.

Later, when she is safely ensconced in Sam's couch, and Lena and Kara have both resolved to themselves not to speak about that moment on the plane, Lena feels Kara's arms tighten around her and linger just the slightest bit. She feels Kara nestle her head beside hers, their cheeks close together.

And even though Sam is there on her other side, and Lena is sure Kara is talking to her too, it feels like Kara's words are meant just for Lena.

_"When you're family, you can say what you need to say, and the people who love you still will love you."_

It's only when she's alone in her bed after the events of this terrible day, already half-asleep and barely conscious, that Lena realizes that Kara had said it back. The word Lena has only ever said twice --- once in Mina Murray's bedroom, and again tonight, with a tongue loosened by alcohol and anguish.

_Love._

....

....

....

....

....

....

....

**_Fifteen years ago. Eight years after the Event._ **

_The alley between the bar and the Chinese restaurant is strewn with garbage and smells of rotting food and piss. The only company this back alley sees are the rats, some stray cats and the occasional homeless vagrant who finds shelter in the crates beside the dumpster._

_But tonight, this derelict place has an unexpected visitor._

_The streets of New York are unsafe at midnight, especially for a twelve year old girl. Everyone knows this. Even the homeless man half-asleep, half-drunk on a bottle of Jack bribed from the bartender knows this. So he figures this kid must be lost or incredibly stupid to be wandering around here at this time of night._

_A long time ago, he might have cared. It would have been his_ job _to care. But tonight, he's shitfaced and he just wants to pass out under his tarp and be left alone. Screw this kid._

_Apparently, the kid has other plans. She stops a few feet away from him, and through cloudy eyes, he sees her smart patent leather shoes pointing squarely at him. He ignores her, wraps his arm around the bottle of Jack and burrows further into the tarp._

_"Mr. Stark?"_

_Under the tarp, the cloud of whiskey clears from sharp eyes that pop open in wary surprise. It takes him a long moment to recover, during which time, the kid just waits patiently for a response. She doesn't move or walk away. Not even when a loud pointed snore issues from under the dirty tarp._

_"Mr. Stark, my name is Lena Luthor," the kid speaks up, as if they're in a damn classroom and she's talking to a teacher. "I have some questions for you."_

Luthor. _Well, well._

_"Don't know a Mr. Stark. Go away, kid. 'M tryna sleep here."_

_The tarp is kicked away from him, and the kid's voice becomes crisp and impatient. The toe of the girl's school shoe nudges his shoulder, and out of reflex, he rolls over. He sees a pale face and dark hair and a green sweater with some school crest. The girl crosses her arms. He sees sharp eyes and a formidable frown._

_"Please don't insult my intelligence and yours, Mr. Stark. I'm perfectly aware of who you are, just as you're perfectly aware of my family name. I know you're Anthony Edward Stark, son of Howard and Maria Stark. Formerly known as Iron Man. Also formerly the CEO of Stark Enterprises. You used to be the consultant for an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. and you were previously affiliated with the collaboration of heroes known as the Avengers. I know that eight years ago, you lost your fiancee, Pepper Potts in the Event --"_

_A sudden jolt of movement stops the girl's tirade. Stark surges forward with a menacing glare, grabbing the girl's sleeve._

_"I don't know who you think you are, I don't know what you want, and I don't care." A look of fear crosses the girl's eyes, and Stark relents a bit, releasing her sleeve. He shoves the kid away, not too roughly, but firm enough to send a message. "You don't know what you're talking about. Walk away and go home to your Mummy, kid."_

_"I can't."_

_The tone of the girl's voice stops him, and Stark looks at her._ Really _looks at her. She's rubbing her arm where he'd grabbed her, but she meets his gaze head-on. He can see the sadness and the pain and the confusion hiding underneath her bravado._

 _"I lost my real family and all my memories of them to that damn Event." She sets her jaw and gives him a piercing look. "You're not the only one whose life was destroyed._ My _life was changed by something I don't remember or understand. And I know you can give me answers. I just want to know what happened. I need to know. I need to_ understand _."_

_There's a shift between them. In an alley filled with filth and piss and trash, Tony Stark looks at this stranger decades younger than him -- who's barely sprung up in life -- and sees something he hasn't seen in a while. Something curious. Something almost... hopeful._

_When he speaks again, it's not with the slur of years of alcohol abuse, but with an echo of his former self and the mentor he had once been to another kid lost in what the girl calls "The Event"._

_"Why?"_

_"So I can fix it."_

_Stark barks out a mirthless laugh._

_"You think you can_ fix _it? You're, what, twelve? Thirteen? I spent years --_ years, _kid, and all of my resources, my whole damn life, trying to "fix" it -- but the whole fucking universe just won't give a damn. Do you know what that was like? Like throwing yourself, everything you have and then some, against a brick wall that just won't fucking move. And you bang yourself against it, over and over again, destroying pieces of yourself along the way, until there's nothing left of you, but...._ this _." He gestures to himself and the putrid alley around them._

_"And you, a boarding school kid in braces and a training bra, you think you can fix this?"_

_"Yes."_

_Stark is struck silent for a long moment, as he sizes up the awkward kid in front of him, jaw set, green eyes holding a look of utter certainty that he was sure had been in twelve-year-old Tony's eyes when he started his first real invention. He grunts and shrugs his shoulder with a wry smile._

_"Alright, then."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me in the comments section, or on my tumblr (I'm sorrowsflower over there)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lena's memories begin to resurface, and she receives everything she needs from Lillian.

**_Seven months before the Event._ **

_Someone knocks on the door of the Avenue Montaigne apartment, and the child called Mercy sprints to the door eagerly._

_It must be Daddy! He's coming to town this week and he'd promised to take her to the Palais de la Découverte so she could see the planetarium and they could count all the digits in the pi room together. She's been waiting all week for that!_

_Mummy calls out from the other room for her to slow down and let the maid get the door, but the child called Mercy is too excited. She goes on her tiptoes to reach the doorknob and gives an almighty tug._

_"Daddy--!" The little girl stops short when she sees the man standing at the doorway. Her wide smile turns into a confused, unhappy pout. "You're not Daddy."_

_The man who greets her is tall and handsome, but he's not Daddy. This stranger has a hat on, which he takes off at the sight of her, and as he kneels down to her level, she can see that his head is completely bald._

_There is no fear in the child called Mercy's face, only a frank curiosity. "Who are you?"_

_The bald man in the suit stares at her intently, seemingly taking in every detail of the little girl, from her beribboned hair to her smart little shoes. "My name is Lionel Luthor. And who are you, little one?"_

_The child opens her mouth, about to tell him her name, but Mummy comes in from the other room. She doesn't see the bald man at first, but when she hears his name from across the threshold, she looks up and gets a hard look in her eye._

_The bald man's eyes, however, do the complete opposite. The moment he sees Mummy, his gaze goes soft, and he breathes a strange name. One the child called Mercy doesn't know._

_"Tess...."_

_Mummy strides forward and pulls the child called Mercy away from the door. She places a hand on the little girl's back and ushers her, gently, but firmly away from the threshold. "Go to the study, my darling. Mr. Luthor and I have things to discuss."_

_Mummy has that firm look in her eye, one that the child called Mercy knows not to argue with. She slips into the study nearby and closes the door, but the little girl dares to open it a crack, just enough for her to see the two grown-ups and hear their conversation._

_"What are you doing here, Lionel?"_

_"Is that her?"_

_Mummy's voice is cold. Scary. "She is none of your business. Leave her alone."_

_"She's family. So is the boy." The man's voice is firm, "They're both_ my _family. I deserve a chance to get to meet them, Tess---!"_

 _"_ Don't _call me that." Mummy's voice cracks like a whip, silencing the man. "Tess is dead."_

_The man's face falls, and his voice goes quiet. Sad. "Then what do I call you? Tess is dead. Irene Adler is dead too. Who are you now?"_

_"No one you know." Mummy's eyes are hard and cold when she looks at the man, but there's something sad in them, and the child called Mercy doesn't understand. "_ You _don't get to call me anything. You don't get to be a part of my life anymore. Nor my children's."_

_"I know a lot of things have happened. I know we can't go back to the way things were before, Tes--" The man stops himself. His eyes flick to the door where the child called Mercy is hiding, and for a second she thinks he's seen her. But then he takes a deep breath and turns to Mummy. "But... I miss you.... and this is family. It's everything to me."_

_"Is it? Is it everything to you? Because it sure as hell didn't feel like it all those years ago, Lionel. You were a coward then, just as you are now." Mummy's voice is hard and flat. Final. "We're not family, Lionel. Lillian is your family. And Lex. My children are not Luthors, and they never will be if I can help it."_

_Mummy turns away, staring out the window with hard, angry eyes. Her head is held high in that proud fashion that is so familiar to the child called Mercy, but she sees her Mummy's chin tremble ever so slightly. The man sighs when he realizes that Mummy won't change her mind, and he picks up his hat to leave._

_But just before he reaches the door, Mummy turns her head just a little bit. "Wait..."_

_The man stops, his hand on the door, and there's something almost hopeful in his face. But it disappears when Mummy speaks again, and this time, it's his face that turns hard. "Tell Lillian.... Tell her I'm sorry."_

_And then the moment ends. Mummy turns back to the window, and the man turns the door knob and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him._

....

....

....

....

.... 

  
It's ironic, because in the end, it's Lillian Luthor who sets things in motion.

Or rather, her death.

It's Lillian's lawyer who wakes Lena up in the middle of the night. She's five hours into one of the rare instances of undisturbed sleep she's had in weeks, when the phone rings and Lena jerks awake as if electrocuted.

  
She'd been dreaming of her father, which was strange enough because she hasn't really thought of Lionel in a while. But he'd been in the dream, arguing with a woman she didn't know --- and there was something... _significant_ about it. Something Lena can't place, hovering just out of reach of memory....

The phone rings again, and Lena shakes her head to rid herself of the last vestiges of her confusing dream. It takes her a minute, but she answers with a cool voice that has no trace of sleep or grogginess to it.

Lillian's lawyer -- a conniving shark of a man who has tried (and failed) to outsmart Lena more than once since she took over L-Corp -- is surprisingly hesitant when she answers. She's known this man to be an arrogant bastard for most of her life, and yet she's never heard him speak as softly and tentatively as he does when he says that he's sorry to have to tell her this, but Lillian Luthor was just found dead in her cell at Albatross Bay prison.

And Lena thinks maybe she's still half-asleep, because she's hearing the lawyer's words, but they're not sinking in.

He's talking about how the new Kryptonian vigilante, the one who calls herself Reign, broke into the prison -- more like pummeled her way in -- and attacked the prisoners and guards alike. Apparently Supergirl and some other as-yet unidentified entities with equally unidentified technology had come in to stop Reign.

But not before Reign managed to break into Lillian Luthor's cell and turn her heat vision on the woman Lena called Mother.

It doesn't seem possible. There has to be a mistake.

Because Lillian Luthor is a force to be reckoned with. Nigh indestructible. She has loomed so large and forbidding in Lena's life, casting her shadow over Lena for so long, it doesn't seem possible that she could be gone just like that.

Surely she would have felt it. As illogical as it sounds, Lena felt that she should have _felt_ it. That an event as significant as this should have caused some kind of disturbance.

But there was nothing.

Instead, Lillian Luthor, the cold, leonine goddess Lena had worshiped in her childhood, was snuffed out in a heartbeat by a single glance from a Kryptonian's eyes. Dazedly, she wonders what Lillian's thoughts were in that last moment, looking into the glowing red eyes of a Kryptonian Medusa.

And while her Mother fell, Lena herself slept on, oblivious.

Lillian's lawyer babbles on in a stilted voice, insisting that there's no mistake because he had rushed over to the prison himself and identified... the body. Lena is barely listening. Which is why she almost misses it when the lawyer tells her she needs to meet him as soon as possible because Lillian had left something for Lena in his care.

"I'm sorry, what?"

The lawyer's voice is even more tentative when he repeats himself. "Your mother left specific instructions for it to be given to you if something should happen to her. She said it was of the utmost importance. I... I believe she -- she had an inkling that something like this would happen. She asked to meet me a few days ago, when the Kryptonian first appeared in that broadcast at CatCo, and she left it in my safekeeping. She was quite adamant that you should have it."

Lena is dumbfounded.

Not by the idea that Lillian Luthor had an inkling of her impending death. As irrational as it is, Lena's always believed that her mother is -- _was_ \-- damn near omniscient. Years of mind games and psychological warfare with her mother under the roof of Luthor Manor has convinced her of it. So the idea of Lillian knowing that her death was coming is not as absurd to Lena as one might think.

No, what stuns her into silence is the idea of Lillian Luthor giving _her_ anything. The idea that Lillian had even been thinking of Lena at all in the last moments of her life is mind-boggling.

"What is it?"

The lawyer is quiet for a moment. "She says it's everything you need."

 _It_ turns out to be a packet, containing two things -- the first, a hefty file stamped CONFIDENTIAL in bold, red letters, and the second an unmarked white envelope. Lena stares at both, now lying neatly side-by-side on her desk.

She's asked Jess to cancel all of her meetings and clear her schedule for the day. She'd planned on dealing with whatever this was her mother had left her that morning, but it's well into the afternoon now, and Lena still has yet to open either of the items in the packet the lawyer had handed her early this morning.

It's hard to process whatever she's feeling right now into boxes, because she can't even begin to comprehend _what_ it is that she's feeling.

Knowing Lillian Luthor, Lena is certain that both these items somehow pose a danger to her. Not in the physical sense. But Lena trusts her instincts, and she knows with a bone-deep knowledge that both these items hold a danger -- as if each one is a Pandora's box, and to open either will unleash havoc on Lena's life.

And she's not sure she's ready for it.

The first file practically screams it, conspicuously thick and marked confidential. But the other, suspiciously thin and deceptively nondescript, seems almost harmless. For some reason, that makes Lena trust it less.

With a deep breath, Lena reaches for the thicker file and begins to read. Her breath catches in her throat the moment she turns the first page.

She was right.

Danger.

It's a formula. A chemical formula she's only seen once before -- written in a chaotic, disorderly fashion by her brother's hand, the numbers and letters bleeding into the page, each one a sign of his devolving mind.

It's a formula for synthetic Kryptonite.

Lena takes in a shaky breath as she skims the file. She thought she'd destroyed it. When she'd gotten ahold of it as a consequence of Lex's incarceration and her subsequent inheritance of all that he owned, she'd found this same formula among his files.

Still fresh from the trials, her nerves frayed by the toxicity that came with being a madman's sister, Lena had burned it. Incinerated it in the lab, watching the paper curl into blackened, smoldering strips as she huddled into her lab coat, filled with the irrational fear that if she even looked at it, her brother's madness would infect her, and this dangerous knowledge would be in her mind, ready for use.

And yet here it is, intact and untouched, outlined carefully in Lillian's meticulous handwriting.

She flips through it rapidly, not letting herself dwell on any of it. She's ready to snap the file shut when she sees it in the very back of the folder, clipped to the last page.

It's a photograph of the Kryptonian glyph -- the strange, ominous pastiche of Supergirl's crest -- that had first appeared on L-Corp property weeks ago. The one she'd initially thought had been Morgan Edge's doing.

Lena tugs the photograph from the clip and flips it over. Her mother's neat, decisive handwriting is stark on the white page.

 _"This is what I tried to spare you and the world from, Lena, even if you and the world never listened. I know the Kryptonian will come to me, and I know she will seek to destroy me just as she seeks to destroy the world. I trust you'll figure out how to finish this work. I passed it on to your brother years ago, and now I'm passing the torch to you. I know_ you _will succeed where he failed."_

Lena slaps the photograph onto her desk, face-up, so she won't see her mother's words.

It's becoming clear now. She's beginning to understand what Lillian wants from her. What she's trying to manipulate Lena into doing from beyond the grave.

And it filters into her consciousness, the terrifying thought that Lillian is going to win. She's going to get what she wants from Lena.

Because as she stares at the glyph, Lena thinks of this Kryptonian, Reign. And her first thought isn't of Lillian, and how Reign had killed the woman Lena calls Mother. Her first thought isn't even of the destruction Reign has wrought and will continue to bring upon the world. Even the rest of the world is delegated to a close second.

Her first thought is of Kara.

Of Supergirl fighting Reign --- stumbling to the ground, taking blow after blow, but still getting up every time. Of Kara, whose bright smile could light up an entire room, swallowed by darkness as she fell, defeated by this new rogue Kryptonian.

Lena can't bear to think of it. It's an almost physical pain. Her breath catches in her throat and her chest feels tight. She grips the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles become white, her nails digging into the leather.  


Kara, who almost _died_.

And Lena had stood by helplessly, as Kara -- strong, invulnerable Kara, the Girl of Steel -- was tossed around like a rag doll by a being who was somehow stronger and more invulnerable than her. In her mind's eye, she sees Kara, lying on an impossibly large and deep crater on the ground, bleeding and broken -- and Lena feels as if _she_ is the one who is broken.

Lena had seen the woman she loved all but beaten to death, and there had been nothing -- _nothing_ \-- she could do.

She stares at the file on her desk. This is _something_.

 _This_ , at least, Lena can do.

But Lena's lip curls as she reads her mother's words, anger simmering to a boil inside her. Because she knows that Lillian may be dead, but she's still trying to play her. And worse, she's succeeding.

The file is incomplete -- even _Lex_ hadn't managed to finish Lillian's work, because the compound he'd made had been unstable, and his results had been either a diluted form of the chemical or too volatile for use, as John Corben had proved.

But Lena.... Lillian knows that Lena can see the gaps, and even against her will, she sees the problems in the equation and her brilliant mind automatically whirs to solve them.

Lillian had known what Lena would choose, despite how much it galls her. Because even if Kara weren't involved, Lena still would have chosen the same thing.

Accept her mother's legacy -- a legacy that can poison and kill the woman Lena loves, and everyone like her -- and save the world. Or watch it burn at the hands of a Kryptonian, knowing she could have stopped it.

Despite how much it makes Lena's skin crawl that she could make something that would hurt Kara, she knows what she needs to do.

Pushing down the bile in her throat, Lena stores the other, thinner envelope -- the second, mysterious part of her inheritance from the mother who hated her -- into the safe, as if locking it into a box would keep it from doing any unknown damage. Then, she picks up the thicker file and heads down to the labs.

There's a lot of work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know, this chapter's a mess. 
> 
> So, the original flow of this story was supposed to be Lena's POV in the first half, then shifting to Kara's because it made more sense story-wise, but I've been writing some things from Kara's perspective and it took me to some interesting places. So yeah, next chapter might be all Kara's. And will definitely include Kara's backstory.
> 
> Also, Lena's origin story definitely does not strictly follow canon, and definitely got more complicated than I planned (like YEARS-before-she-was-born complicated). There's still elements of it in there: Lena's still a Luthor by blood, Lionel is still present, but Lillian is more involved in that complicated backstory than she is in canon. (I think I might have actually given a few things away already, lol)
> 
> If anyone is reading this heaping pile of garbage, thank you so much! I'd love to hear what you guys think! I also want to post this to my Supercorp/Lena-centric second blog (which I just made): missluthorwillseeyounow.tumblr.com What do you think?

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeeeahhhhh... So.... Keep going?  
> Send me your feedback please, I love to know what people think.


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